Sick
by 10111993
Summary: Title says it all. Charlie has a migraine, and Don takes care of him. Set up as Don wakes up at a couple different times in the day. Extremely Charlie centric fluff. Only a T rating because I can't remember the rules about swearing.


Don Eppes cracked his eyes open, blinking against the gluey crust that separated him from the realm of the living, which was definitely sleep, because the hell he awakened to now surely wasn't. The light was too bright, the world too much data to process. A crippling pull of sleep threatened to save him from this special level of hell, but he opened his eyes anyway. Who was he kidding. He was taking a nap in an FBI office; a coffee would clear the hellish haze in no time. However, his doubts remained, with as tired as he was. There wasn't a word for what he was; the drawing feeling in his head defied all words or sensations. His world was currently cut clearly between sleeping and not sleeping. He wasn't sure if he would have been able to make the choice without his years of FBI conditioning. Having succeeded in not sleeping, he struggled into the grainy awfulness of being awake, struggling with his phone as he did. "Eppes." His voice was subdued, outright sleepy even, which was a rarity. A modicum of decorum was always sustained on the phone; a half awake man was normally no way to greet his boss or work relations. He could have cared a less at that point though; he was struggling to even decide to be awake when he pulled the phone obligingly up to his ear.

"Don?"

Don's head cleared a little as his brother's voice carried across the void.

"Hey, Buddy, what's up?"

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Don frowned a little at the similarly subdued tone of his brother.

"No, no, not at all. I was just taking a little break. You sound like you're taking one too. Sleeping on the job?" Don teased.

Charlie's snort was audible through the phone.

"As if. I'm not even there. I'm at home."

Alarmed, Don sat up in his chair, running a hand unconsciously through his hair. "Hey, is everything all right?"

" 'ick. Migraine," Charlie said mutedly.

Don fell back into the chair.

"Oh. Well, there's some Advil in the cupboard and a packet a frozen peas I saw in the freezer the last time I was there. Listen, I'm sorry Buddy but my break just ended. I have to get back to work. Is Dad there with you?"

A pause, then a slightly hoarse voice "No. He went down to Tennessee, remember?"

Don cursed himself for forgetting, and then apologetically said goodbye to his brother. Feeling awake now, he straightened his jacket and sat up straight, pulling open a new case file that had arrived on his desk the night before. It was time to get some work done. He assured himself with the knowledge that a migraine would go away, and that Charlie wasn't too sick. Of course, he hadn't seen his kid brother sick before.

* * *

Charlie finished heaving into the toilet, gagging and choking as he caught his breath back. Spitting the last substantial bile from his mouth, Charlie let his pounding head rest on the toilet rim, too tired to do anything but breathe. He was shaking; it might have been because he was hot; his stomach was slowly burning more and more, making him nauseous and weak. Without warning, his body jerked upright and heaved again, hurling still more liquid forward. Some of it splattered on the floor and on the toilet seat, hanging disgustingly in yeast colored patterns. A minority of it actually made it into the vessel. He was burning, and his head was pounding but also dizzy, and he couldn't see anything clearly, couldn't think clearly.

_Stumbling. Jello. He felt like jello. Trembling, also like jello. Somebody was cooking him now, put him on the stove and letting him physically burn. His shoulders literally felt as if they had caught fire. Oh god. The pain, the pain - MAKE IT STOP. DON. Now his throat burned again, and he felt himself retching pathetically. _

_CRASH. What was that? Something tickled his feet. Water. Cold. Shower. What was this? Blobs of color. Stumbling, blissful coolness, a hiss._

"Hey, David? I'm going to leave for a sec, check on Charlie. I forgot he's sick and he's alone at the house. Thought I'd better check on him." Don stuck his head around the corner of his agent's cubicle. David looked up, and nodded, a look of concern on his face. "He alright?" "I'm sure he's fine," Don chuckled, "but you know him." David smiled, and gave him the go. Having done that, Don excited the building, jingling his keys cheerfully in the sunshine.

Don tossed his keys on the table as he shrugged off his coat, nudging the door shut with his elbow. "Anyone here?" Silence greeted him, but the faint sound of hissing water drifted down the stairs. _It's probably a good thing he's taking a shower. I think I'll check on him anyway, _Don thought. Climbing the stairs, he couldn't help but feel how odd it was to be in the house at two thirty. It was almost creepy.

"Charlie?" Don pounded on the door. There was no response, no sound of movement even. "CHARLIE!" Charlie should have heard him by now. The hiss of the shower went on uninterrupted despite Don's shouts and banging on the door. Feeling guilty for having to do this, Don turned the knob, opening the door. "Oh jesus christ, oh shit, oh shit, Charlie! CHARLIE!" Dashing across the vomit covered floor, Don leapt into the shower stall, turning off the cold knob, which was turned on full blast. Dripping now himself, Don knelt beside his bedraggled brother, panicked beyond belief. He looked to be unconscious, but when Don grabbed his shoulders, hauling him out of his slouched position in the corner, he stirred a little, mumbling something unintelligible. "Shit, fuck," Don cursed, panicking and momentarily having no idea what to do. Charlie's head lolled against his shoulder, and he automatically cradled his brother, bringing both arms around his left shoulder to press the right into his chest. Looking around the massacred bathroom, Don made a decision. "okay, Buddy, come on, let's get you out of here." Shifting himself back to his knees, Don reached out and grabbed his brother's arm, draping it around his neck. Then he began the slow process of hauling them up.

* * *

Some forty minutes later, when he had stripped his brother and himself of their wet clothing and wrapped him in blankets, Don called the office, letting them know he wasn't going to be able to come in and yes, he would count this as unpaid vacation time. Then he made some hot soup, carrying it to where he had settled Charlie on his bed. Charlie was smack dab in the middle of the bed, right where Don had helped lay him down, but he had turned over, away from the door. His hair was still wet, and he was still shivering. Frowning, Don set down the bowl on the nightstand and leaned over to feel his brother's forehead again. Flinching, he withdrew from the heat with a sigh. Now, if only he could find that damn thermometer.

Twenty minutes later, the FBI agent returned triumphantly to the bedroom, crossing the room to the other side of the bed where Charlie had rolled to. "C'mon, open up for me, Buddy," he urged gently, shaking what seemed to be a shoulder. The blanketed lump groaned, and then reluctantly withdrew from the comforting cave to submit to his brother's ministrations. Don stuck the thermometer in firmly, eyeing Charlie cautiously while he waited. The curly headed man had his eyes closed, breathing heavily as he let his mouth hang open. A beep, and then Charlie was under the covers again, buffering himself against the cold which seemed to suddenly permeate his being. 103. "Aww, crap," Don groaned, looking helplessly at the few visible brown curls that lay limply on the white sheets. His little brother was undeniably sick. What had his dad said? Migraines, that was it. Man, they must be a bitch; Don looked sympathetically at his brother, breathing out a sigh of resignation and released tension. Finding his brother half conscious in a vomit covered bathroom was not the way he wanted this day to end, but it didn't look like it was going to get any better. Speaking of which, he should really start cleaning. He knew from experience that it was easier to clean it up before it crusted over completely. Running a tired hand over his face, he looked out the window for a moment, then reached out to close the blinds and shut the door behind him as he reluctantly left the room.

* * *

Don had a strong feeling of Deja Vu as he slowly rose back to awareness, feeling the repeat sensation of dry, crusty eyes that ached with what seemed like a permanent lack of sleep. He moaned, stretching, as his body reawakened and the weight of sleep lifted. He sighed, relaxing comfortably back into the leather...wait, leather? There wasn't any leather at the office, that he knew about at least. If they had been holding out on him all these years... but no, he was at Charlie's. Why was he at Charlie's, in the afternoon no less? The light was streaming in, casting an unprecedented warm glow over the wood of the Eppes household. Suddenly, the memories came flashing back and he sat up quickly, glancing at his watch. Crap. He had only meant to take an hour long nap, but it looked like that hour had turned into three. Who knew what Charlie had done in that amount of time? From the sight that had beheld him earlier, Don determined, nothing good.

He took the stairs easily, moving swiftly down the hallway. He opened the door cautiously, half afraid of what he might see. He was grateful to find that Charlie merely lay in the center of the bed, stretched out on his back bare chested with the sheets resting over his hips. His breathing seemed less labored, the rise and fall of his chest less inhibited, but sweat still gleamed on him despite the darkness which the closed blinds provided. Don sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling it sink under his weight as he looked at his brother for a moment. He was reminded of how young he was, and how innocent. Well, relatively. Working for the FBI over the last year had certainly done irrevocable things to Charlie, which made Don's chest ache slightly. He cleared his throat quietly, a little uncomfortable with the sensation and the sentiment behind it. Despite the years of separation and antagonizing on Don's part, their relationship was improving. He was beginning to seriously regret the years he had spent avoiding his genius sibling as much as possible, particularly in high school and college. He might never know how his little brother fared in the large, threatening world into which he had been thrust from a young age. Don hadn't realized Charlie's vulnerable state until he had entered the FBI, and seen first hand the dangers which abounded in it and their victims. Charlie had always been a target, a young, naive soul amidst many much different souls - Don berated himself for not realizing it earlier, when he would find him in the bathroom, small feet poking out from under the stall door as the attached person inside sniffled or even the many, too many, times when he put himself between the small thirteen year old and a much larger high schooler. He felt a tightening sensation stretching over his chest again, and this time couldn't resist putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, mulling over its substantiality.

"Don?" The whisper was quiet and croaked, indicating a dry throat from where it came. Don startled, withdrawing his hand awkwardly. "Yeah, Chuckie?" "Mh, don't call me Chuckie," came the mumbled replied, and Don rumbled a laugh. Charlie turned his head, glazed eyes shuttered as they looked at him. "Why'r you re?" He asked, stumbling to complete his words. "Found you in the shower, Buddy. Care to explain that first?" Charlie looked at his feet, evidently afraid his big brother was mad at him. "Was hot. Thirsty. Needed to get-" a shudder wracked his slight frame "-cold." "It's alright, don't worry about it now," Don soothed, drawing the blanket up over his brother's chest. Charlie whispered a thanks. "Need anything? Food? Water?" The last word resulted in soft, chocolaty eyes pleading arrows into his heart. Damn puppy dog eyes - they spared nothing and no one. The inevitable rush of affection washed over him, spreading a soft smile over his face. Charlie smiled tentatively back.

Charlie was still awake when he returned with the glass. With Don's help, he sat up, although he had to lean against his older brother to maintain some pretense of being vertical. He took the glass gratefully and with trembling hands. The water was cool and welcome to his dry throat and warm body, somewhat tempering the fire that seemed to steadily burn in his belly. Done, he handed the empty glass back to Don who put it on the nightstand. Feeling a little chilled again, he leaned into his brother's warmth, sighing and resting his head on a shoulder as quietly soaked in the strength and warmth of a big brother's comforting presence.

On his part, Don was both startled and pleased. Having set down the empty glass, he had been about to get off the bed when Charlie had settled himself onto him. Don could feel his cheek burning through the cotton sleeve. Embarrassed a little nonetheless, he subtly began shifting him onto the bed again when Charlie turned and slung a listless arm over Don's chest, driving him down as well. Don chuckled a little, brushing away renegade curls from under his nose with his free arm. Ah, well, that nap hadn't been as long as he needed anyway. Might as well get a little more sleep while he could. He'd phoned Megan already, who, concerned, had simply told him to take care of Charlie "for them." It seemed, Don mused, more and more as if Charlie was becoming everyone else's little brother...for whatever reason, this sparked a feeling of jealousy in his stomach, and he shoved it down, annoyed by it while he was trying to fall asleep.

Don couldn't help but smile widely, one of those supposedly "rare" ones that fetched great commotion from his team whenever they occurred, as he looked at the face buried in his armpit. Charlie was pressed up against his brother's side, an arm gripping his abdomen tightly, snoring away happily. If he was snoring, then he had to be better. Don had never known Charlie not to snore, and had been unsettled by the feverish silence from before. Analyzing his chances of getting away, Don thought better of it. Besides, he didn't mind that much. Thank God his team wasn't here - they would have teased him mercilessly, while Megan looked at him knowingly. Being friends with a profiler wasn't always easy. Being read like a book made Don distinctly uncomfortable, and he always tried to bluff his way through it, maintaing his hard-ass image. Not that he wasn't a hard-ass naturally - that was partly what made him a great team leader - but he didn't like sharing his emotions much, although he had found that it wasn't so bad with Charlie, who, being very emotional himself, had no qualms about it.

"GODDAMMIT DON, I LOVE YOU, YOU IDIOT!" Don jerked in surprise, and glanced over at his brother with the classic Eppes eyebrow raise. "Aw, thanks Chuckles," Don said dryly, only realizing after a moment that his brother was still asleep. What in the world was he dreaming about? He sounded irritated - probably at him, from what it sounded like. Don chuckled, ever the big brother. Hey, somebody had to bring that guy's ego down - that was his excuse, and one that Megan had kicked him for. Although, he found it frustrating at times how low a self esteem Charlie had - hell, he had a PHD by the time he was in his mid twenties. Why didn't he think he was good enough? Don felt like knocking some sense into him. When he was fully healthy again, of course. After a moment, he felt a nose remove itself from his side - where, he would remind Charlie it had been poking him - and weary eyes blink blearily at him. "What?" Charlie was confused, disoriented probably. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Don smirked. Charlie glared at him and offered a weak punch. "What-" *yawn* "time is it?" Don glanced at his watch. "A quarter past six. About time you woke up - I've counted at least nine hundred sheep on this ceiling." Charlie stared at him, confused. "What are you talking about, Donnie, there aren't any sheep in here, and what's more there certainly couldn't be nine-hundred, there would only be about-" "Learn to take a joke, ya geek," Don said, breaking off Charlie's calculations with a pillow. A muffled, indignant shout followed him out the door. Yep, baby bro was definitely better.

* * *

**Epilogue**:

Don returned to work the next day, stepping into his cubicle with a cheerful whistle that brought raised eyebrows from his team members. "What, can't a man be happy?" "Not our hard-ass boss," David countered, walking by skeptically. "What, something good happen?" Megan teased, leaning over the wall with crossed arms. Don snorted, turning his back as he shuffled papers. "As if. Had to clean up at least a bucket of vomit this weekend and do three loads of laundry." Megan wrinkled her nose delicately, but continued smiling. "Sounds as if he spent some big brother time yesterday." "Nah," Don denied, trying to frown, but Colby came up and whooted. "Aww, the boss with his little brother - our hard-ass boss is a softy, David." The black agent grinned back at him, equally delighted, though aware for awhile that his boss had a soft side for Charlie. Hell, all of them did. They had theorized it was the curls, or the eyes, but even Megan couldn't determine why exactly he brought up images of a teddy bear. Don turned around to glare at all of them. "Go and get all of your asses to your chairs - you need to be done with two stacks by the end of the day." He swallowed a smile as they departed with a collective groan, settling back into chair with his arms behind his head and his feet on the desk. Maybe he could take his brother to lunch tomorrow.


End file.
